28| Tension at Home

Sophie locked up the shop, the soft chime of the bell above the door sounding like a sigh.

It had already been a long day, and Claire's visit had drained her in ways she hadn't expected.

She was so mad. So mad and so sad at the same time.

Walking home, the cool evening breeze did little to soothe her. The streets were quiet, her own footsteps the only sound as she neared Ethan's house—no, their house, though it still didn't feel like hers.

She stepped inside, and the stillness swallowed her whole.

The house felt emptier than usual, and she couldn't help but feel like an intruder in her own life.

Slipping off her shoes, she hung up her coat and wandered into the laundry room. Normally, she found the hum of the washing machine soothing, almost therapeutic.

Ethan's house had all these fancy, state-of-the-art appliances she never thought she'd use.

Right. Ethan's house.

No matter how long she lived here, it still felt like she was just passing through. Like a guest overstaying her welcome. Like a roommate who didn't even pay rent.

The thought settled heavily in her chest as she started sorting clothes.

Her mind was elsewhere, too tangled in frustration to focus. Without thinking, she tossed a red shirt in with the whites.

The machine started its cycle, the rhythmic sound of water filling the room, but Sophie barely heard it. She leaned against the counter, her thoughts spiraling.

Claire's voice echoed in her head: "Ethan needs someone who can match his drive and ambition."

What the hell did Claire even know about ambition?

Ethan was so ambitious he drove his body to exhaustion. He worked himself to the point of breaking. Did Claire really think she understood him? That she knew anything about the weight he carried?

And why hadn't Sophie said any of that to her?

Why hadn't she fought back? Told Claire to shut up?

God, she hated herself for it.

But the truth was... she didn't feel confident.

Not in her place in Ethan's world.

Not in them.

She left the laundry room and headed for the kitchen, hoping cooking might distract her. Pulling out vegetables and broth, she decided on a simple soup.

But as she chopped, her focus wavered.

The knife slipped.

A sharp sting.

"Damn it," she muttered, sucking on the small cut.

It wasn't deep, but it felt like another crack in her already fragile day.

Wrapping her finger in a bandage, she kept going, her movements mechanical.

Maybe Claire was right.

Maybe she wasn't enough for Ethan. Maybe she never would be.

"Get it together, Sophie," she whispered, but Claire's words wouldn't stop circling back.

The soup was ready, but Sophie barely had the energy to eat. She poured a bowl, sat at the table, and took a few bites.

Bland.

She knew it wasn't the recipe.

Her appetite was gone.

She pushed the bowl away, resting her head in her hands.

The washing machine beeped.

Dragging herself back to the laundry room, she opened the door and—

Pink.

The white clothes had turned a pale, uneven pink.

Sophie stared at the mess, an overwhelming sense of failure crashing over her.

You really mess everything up, Sophie, don't you?

She let out a slow, heavy sigh.

Too tired to care, she moved the clothes to the dryer, leaning against the machine as it hummed to life.

The steady rhythm filled the silence, but it couldn't drown out the chaos in her mind.

She blinked back tears.

Everything just seemed to be against her.

Somehow, she dragged herself back to the kitchen to clean up. She got started wiping counters, loading the dishwasher, keeping her hands busy—anything to stop thinking.

The house was too quiet.

She hated the silence.

But somehow, she had to get used to it.

Living with Ethan meant never really having him. Almost like someone just out of reach—someone she had to give up pieces of herself for, in exchange for whatever little bits of him he was willing to offer.

And somehow, she had convinced herself that it was enough.

That she could make do with whatever he was willing to give.

That one day, maybe, he would give her something more.

She hated herself for it.

What do you even want, Sophie?

She wanted him to love her. Maybe even half as much as she loved him.

And she hated herself for wanting that, too.

She felt pathetic for wanting it—pathetic for craving love like it was something she had to beg for.

But Ethan was special to her.

And she knew—anyone lucky enough to be loved by him was truly one of a kind.

Right now, though?

Right now, she just wanted him to tell her Claire's words didn't matter.

She needed to hear it.

But at this point, she felt too emotional to even ask. She almost wanted to yell at him instead, just so he would be the one feeling like crap for once.

God, am I a terrible person now?

Sophie sighed and moved to the living room, sinking into the couch with a blanket. She turned on the TV, but the images blurred as her thoughts consumed her.

She curled up tighter, her hands clutching the fabric.

Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she blinked them away. Don't cry again.

Why do you do this to yourself?

The dryer buzzed, but Sophie didn't move.

Her head rested against the arm of the couch, her limbs heavy with exhaustion.

She closed her eyes...

She needed Ethan to tell her she wasn't replaceable.

She needed to hear it from him.

She needed him to fix whatever was breaking inside her.

But the thought that haunted her as sleep pulled her under was—

Why would he?

********

Ethan walked through the front door, the weariness of the day fading as he anticipated seeing Sophie.

Lately, he felt like he was really getting to know her.

There were so many things he hadn't known before—small things, big things—and now, he was slowly building a treasure trove of Sophie in his mind.

Things she loved. Things that made her smile. Things that made her her.

The house was dimly lit, and the sight of her curled up on the couch greeted him.

She really should sleep in bed more often.

Lately, she always seemed to fall asleep here, and somehow, he had made it a habit to carry her to bed.

But as he stepped closer, something felt... off.

She was awake—but she didn't acknowledge him.

Ethan's brows drew together.

"Sophie?" he asked gently, almost to make sure she wasn't asleep.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she sat up slowly, her expression guarded.

"Hey," she said. Flat. Distant.

Ethan frowned. "Were you sleeping?"

"I tried," she said with a dry laugh. "Failed miserably at it."

That laugh didn't sit right with him.

His concern deepened. "Bad day at the shop?"

For some reason, his kindness only seemed to agitate her.

"You could say that," she muttered, pushing herself off the couch. "I'm just... tired."

She brushed past him, and Ethan instinctively reached out, his fingers just grazing her wrist—

But she pulled away.

The suddenness of it made his chest tighten.

And then—

"How long were you going to keep lying to me?"

Her voice was shaking—partly from anger, partly from something deeper.

Ethan froze.

"What?" His frown deepened as he searched her face. "Lying to you about what?"

"About everything." She started pacing, her emotions unraveling in real-time. "God, I've been such a fool."

"Sophie, I don't know what you're talking about," Ethan said, his voice calm but confused. "What's wrong?"

"Your relationship with Claire."

Ethan stilled.

"Claire?"

His voice was incredulous, caught between disbelief and frustration.

"This is about Claire?"

"No, Ethan, you don't get to do that."

Her voice was accusatory, raw, although she looked more hurt than angry.

"You never told me you almost got married. You never told me you lived together. You never told me how precious she is to you!"

Her words rushed out, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself.

Ethan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Why would I tell you that?" His voice was rough with disbelief. "When it doesn't even mean anything to me?"

He shook his head, trying to piece this together. "Where is this coming from? It's not entirely true, and it's definitely out of context."

Sophie's lips parted in an incredulous scoff. "She told me herself," she shot back. "And honestly? It's not just her. People talk about it, Ethan. Every time you're together, there's gossip."

Ethan's jaw tensed. And then it clicked.

"Claire came to see you, didn't she?"

"Yes." Sophie's voice was flat, but the hurt underneath it was obvious. "She came by the shop today."

Ethan sighed, rubbing his temple. "Sophie."

"Don't." She folded her arms, her knuckles white from how tightly she was gripping them.

"I'm sorry," Ethan said, trying to keep his tone even. "Claire can be blunt—too honest, even—but she's not a bad person. That's just... her."

Sophie stilled.

Then she blinked at him, disbelief flickering across her face.

"Are you kidding me right now?" Her voice rose, her frustration boiling over. "That's what you have to say? After everything she said to me, you're defending her?"

Ethan straightened, his frustration bubbling to the surface.

"I'm not defending her, Sophie. I'm apologizing for whatever Claire told you. She's rough around the edges, but that's just how she is." He let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "I guess even you can't charm her."

The second the words left his mouth, he knew he'd messed up.

Sophie's expression shattered, the hurt in her eyes cutting through the space between them like a blade.

"Just stop, Ethan!" she snapped, cutting him off. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Do you even hear yourself?"

Her breath came out uneven, raw emotion seeping into every word.

"God, she was right, wasn't she?" Her voice cracked, her lips trembling. "I've been so stupid."

Ethan stilled.

His frustration drained into something else—something colder.

"You don't trust me, do you?" His voice was quieter now, but there was something unsteady underneath it.

Sophie swallowed hard.

"No, I don't. Why should I?"

The words hit. Her voice trembled, but there was a sharpness to it, a resentment she could no longer hold in.

"You never let me in," she continued, her voice shaking. "But I guess you let Claire in just fine."

Ethan's jaw tightened.

"What the hell, Sophie?"

Ethan stared at her, the weight of her accusation settling uncomfortably between them.

He met her stormy green eyes, searching for something—anything—that would tell him what she wanted from him.

"I need to know why you're upset, but I can't fix it if you don't tell me."

Sophie let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head.

"I already did! I told you how I feel about your relationship with Claire!"

Ethan stepped closer, his voice softer but firm.

"But that's the thing, Sophie—I don't have a relationship with Claire."

"That's not what she thinks," Sophie shot back, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ethan exhaled sharply, his frustration rising again.

"Why do you even care what she thinks?" he asked, his voice rough. "Sophie, she was my childhood friend—nothing more. Is that not enough for you?"

Sophie's eyes glistened, her emotions threatening to spill over.

"No, Ethan, it's not," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Because it's not just about Claire. You never talk to me about anything. You're so closed off, and I'm just supposed to—what? Be okay with that?"

Ethan took a step closer, his voice softening, as if willing her to hear him out.

"Sophie—"

"But I guess you're willing to talk to Claire." she interrupted, her words sharp, deliberate.

They hit like a dagger and hung between them, heavy and suffocating.

Ethan opened his mouth—then closed it.

His chest ached, and suddenly, he hated this fight.

Hated how Sophie was looking at him.

"If you're just going to believe Claire over me..." His voice was quieter now, rougher. "Then I don't think I can do this right now."

Sophie hesitated for half a second—

But it was already too late.

"Of course," she said bitterly, her eyes filled with something dangerously close to disappointment. "Of course you'd want to avoid it."

"I'm not avoiding anything!"

Ethan's voice rose, frustration breaking through.

"I don't even know what you want from me!"

Sophie stared at him, her heart sinking at his words.

For a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something.

But then—

Her shoulders slumped, something in her deflating entirely.

"God, Ethan," she whispered. "I can't do this."

Her voice broke.

"I can't."

"Sophie," he called after her, his tone laced with concern, but she was already stepping away.

She took a shaky breath, her fingers curling at her sides.

"I really thought we were getting somewhere, Ethan. " Her voice wavered. "But maybe I was just lying to myself."

The words crushed him.

She turned on her heel and stormed off to her bedroom, her footsteps sharp and final.

The door slammed shut, the sound reverberating through the quiet house.

Ethan stood frozen, her footsteps lingering in the silence.

For a long moment, he just stood there.

Then, exhaling sharply, he sank onto the couch, his elbows braced on his knees.

Running his hands over his face, he tried to make sense of what the hell had just happened.

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